Turkey in the Snow (9 page)

He pulled away and backed up. “I, uhm, I’m not going to be coming to the gym tonight—”

“Are we still on for later?” Justin asked, instantly upset, and Hank hesitated. “What? I’m not good enough to come over anymore? Didn’t you just say ‘I lo…’.
Omygah!
You
did!
You
did
say the
L
word, and now you’re running away?”

Hank backed up; he knew he was leaving Justin confused as hell, but he felt powerless to do this any other way. All his railing against drama, how was he supposed to let Justin see him falling apart like a lost child if Amanda stole their little girl?

“Call me when your shift’s over,” he said, reaching behind him for the handle. “We’ll talk then, okay? You’re perfect, and don’t forget to ask your mom about Christmas Eve.” And with that he fled, leaving Justin gaping after him, aware that he hadn’t told Justin why he was there in the first place.

T
HE
next few hours were agony.

He called the social worker from in front of the daycare lady’s house. Mrs. Ramirez once again confirmed what he’d known, which was that Amanda had every right in the world to come sweep Josie out of his home.

“Can I get her to sign something that makes that not possible?” he asked, and Mrs. Ramirez sniffed.

“We do have papers where a parent agrees to relinquish custody. Odds are good she could overturn it if she changes her mind, but in the meantime—”

“It’ll take her a while to change her mind. Can she sign them today?”

There was a sigh over the phone and Hank almost imagined Mrs. Ramirez felt a little bit of pity for him. “Now Mr. Calder, you know we don’t work that fast. But if you like, we can start drawing them up, then the next time you see your sister, we can see about doing that.”

Hank thought about screaming, but he didn’t. That was drama neither of them needed. “Okay, then. Let’s draw up something legal, and yeah. If Amanda doesn’t… if we can, we can get her to sign them.”

He clicked off then and went in to get Josie. He’d promised her a chance to make decorations tonight, and he figured since there was no gym and he was off a little early, he could make good on that promise even if Amanda came and took her away, and there were no more promises ever.

Melodramatic, Henry. Don’t be melodramatic.

They made little drums out of felt and toilet paper rolls, and then they made wreaths with little bows using beads and pipe cleaners. When they were done with that, they moved on to foamies, and he helped her decorate little picture frames. He pulled out the pictures he’d had taken at Sears with her and painstakingly glued them to the back of the frames.

“Now who do we want to give these to?” he asked, forcing himself to look at them dispassionately. He’d had them taken in November, and she had sat so stiffly in his arms. He’d had an idea that if they had a picture up on the mantelpiece, she’d believe that this place, his house, was where she belonged.

“Mrs. Watson,” Josie said eagerly, and Hank thanked Heaven for good daycare services, and set that one aside.

“Good. Who else?”

“Cee Cee—she’s the girl with the black hair at Mrs. Watson’s.”

“Very nice. Who else?”

“Justin—Justin will want one, right?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. Exactly. Justin would
really
want one.” If Amanda took Josie, Justin would probably cry his eyes out over that picture—but he’d still want it. God, Justin was so much braver than Hank was.

“Good,” Josie said, putting an extra sticker on Justin’s frame. “We should have new pictures taken, with you and me and Justin, and then we could give one to Mommy.”

Hank wondered if his lungs could freeze, right along with his bowels. “You think your mom would like one of those?”

“Yes. Then she could see our family. She’d be happy, to see our family.”

Hank nodded, and the ice spread to his whole body. He was numb, he thought gratefully. He was numb, and he’d just do this. He had her help make dinner—omelets tonight, and she got to pour in the egg mixture and sprinkle the cheese and the spinach and the tomatoes, and then she spooned sour cream on top of both the omelets on the plate. He set her at the table on her booster seat, and sat kitty corner to her, like he had for the last three months. When Justin ate with them, he sat on her other side. For a moment, a bare moment, Hank wished he’d invited Justin over, had
begged
him to come over, in fact, so he could have that one memory of the two of them at his dinner table, but he blocked that thought out before it could level him.

Decorations, dinner, bath, television, book, song, bed. It was their routine, and it was soothing, and Hank couldn’t live every goddamned second in a state of freaking out. When bedtime rolled around, he put her to bed with a hug and a kiss. He looked around her room, wondering if he should have packed her clothes, and then it hit him.

Nine o’clock, and Amanda wasn’t here. Maybe she wasn’t coming?

“Is Justin coming over?” Josie asked sleepily, and he bent down and kissed her one more time.

“Maybe,” he said, and for the first time that evening, the little ice skin that had congealed over his heart chipped large, and he had to take a deep breath to keep everything from spilling out onto the shoulders of a very small, and at this moment, very
content
little girl. “He had something to do when he got off work, but he said he was going to try.”

“Good,” Josie whispered. “Tell him ’night for me.”

“Night, Bunny. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she whispered, and even though she said it a lot, almost every night, he promised himself he’d never forget that she did.

He went out into the living room afterward, and stood, at a loss. All set for drama and none had arrived. He pulled out his phone to call Justin when he heard a creak on the porch and then, sniffing, smelled cigarette smoke.

Very quietly he opened his front door and went outside.

Amanda was sitting on the bench out on his front porch, and judging by the butts in the empty coffee cup at her side, she’d been there for quite some time.

“Jesus, Amanda! It’s freezing out here!” It was, in fact, dank and foggy and damp. He wasn’t wearing a coat and he shoved his hands in his khaki pockets in basic reaction.

“I’d noticed,” she said softly, inhaling. She lifted her shoe and stubbed the butt out on the sole, then dropped it in the coffee cup, breathing out smoke while she did so. Hank looked at her, trying to radiate disapproval, but it was hard. She had blond hair and brown eyes, just like Josie, but her hair was straight and Josie’s was starting to curl, like Hank’s did.

“Why didn’t you come in?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“You two, you had your thing. I saw you, right? Sitting on the couch, watching television, reading, bath time. All that shit you used to do for me, except you were… hell, ten, right?”

“Yeah.”

She was wearing jeans and an old denim jacket with a pink hooded sweatshirt underneath it. When she looked up at him, he could almost imagine that she was a child again and he was taking care of her this time, and not her daughter.

“I knew, right?” she said, looking at him, her eyes filling. She wiped them with the back of her hand and just kept talking, her voice roughened by grief and cigarettes. “I knew when I brought her here that you’d take care of her—”

“I could have taken care of you too,” he said, and she half-laughed.

“Yeah, well, Henry, I don’t seem to do really well with that.”

He sighed and leaned against the house, shoving his hands deeper inside his pockets. “I’d noticed.”

“You didn’t tell her I was coming, did you?” It was a question, and Hank had to answer, when he’d been putting off the answer even for himself.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I really hoped you wouldn’t show up.”

She sighed and pulled up her knee so she could rest her chin on it. “My boyfriend would take her in you know. We could have a really cute little family.”

“Yeah?”

“But he wants, like, a kid of his own. I don’t know if I could do both kids.” She shuddered, and he did too. But he couldn’t make her stop smoking or take care of herself or make her take birth control. He could only do a small set of things to make his world work. His job, Josie, taking care of the house. And Justin.

“I want custody,” he said, ignoring her little hurt gasp. “Legal custody.” His voice broke a little. “All I thought of all day was you coming here and taking her away, and I can’t do that, Amanda. I’ve been a stand-up guy. I’ve done right by you. All I want is just a promise that you won’t take her away from me.”

“You can’t make me do that!” she snapped, standing up, and he shook his head, not looking at her so he could talk.

“I know I can’t. But next time you come by, I’ll have papers for you to sign anyway. Think about it, Amanda. It won’t be hanging over your head like a broken promise. You give me custody, and next time, you can come in the house, and you won’t have to feel bad. She won’t expect anything of you, she’ll just be happy to see you.”

“Yeah?” Amanda asked, her voice uncertain, and Hank looked up quickly into brown eyes so very like his own. “She’ll be happy to see me?”

“Ecstatic,” Hank said, his voice raspy. “She’d be thrilled to see you now.”

Amanda shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said. Now her voice broke too, and he could see what this visit had cost her, and how high the price had been of
not
knocking on his door. “You think I don’t remember, Henry. You think I’m not grateful. But I remember. I remember how you made a home when Mom couldn’t. I saw you doing the same things with my little girl and I thought, ‘Yeah. That’s why I brought her here.’ And suddenly it seemed like the best thing I’d ever done.”

“She has her own room.” Hank wiped his eyes across his sweatshirt. “It’s pink, with purple trim—”

“Like cake icing,” she said, smiling a little. It had been the room she’d always wanted. It was how he knew how to decorate it.

“Yeah.”

She nodded and threw herself into his arms unexpectedly, smelling like coffee and cigarettes, and not like little girl at all. He hugged her back.

“Take care of her, okay?”

“I promise.”

“I’ll come back after Christmas, maybe, and sign those papers.”

He half-sobbed into her shoulder, the relief making him weak, and Amanda pulled away from him, wiping her eyes some more. A pair of headlights paused at the end of Hank’s driveway, and Hank looked up to see Justin’s old Dodge Neon parking behind Hank’s practical Hybrid, instead of next to it.

“Who’s that?” Amanda asked with a small frown.

“My boyfriend. He adores Josie.”

Amanda half laughed and then backed away. “Well, I’m gonna leave before this goes all drama queen on me.” She looked into Hank’s eyes again and nodded. “Bye, big brother. See you ’round.”

She trotted off the porch and hopped into her battered gray Corolla, barely waiting for Justin to get across the driveway before she backed out. Hank found that his knees weren’t working right, and he slid into the porch bench like warm Jell-O.

“Who was that?” Justin asked, his nose wrinkled at the smell of cigarettes. “And jeez, Henry, why’d you let her turn this place into an ashtray?”

Hank took a few minutes before answering—long enough for Justin to stop and get a good look at him, and then to come closer and wipe off Hank’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“Your face is freezing, Henry,” Justin said softly. “Want to come inside?”

Hank shook his head. “Did I ever tell you about the day Josie came to stay with me?” he asked.

“No.”

It wasn’t that long ago, it really wasn’t, but Hank felt like a whole other person now.

“See, Amanda had her, and every so often she’d call up on Josie’s birthday or before holidays, and Mom and I would meet her somewhere and celebrate. We never knew when her number would change or when her cell phone would be working, so after a while, we just stopped calling, and started to depend on those random phone calls. And then we went for like, three months, with no Amanda, no Josie—Mom and I were getting worried, but we had no way to track them down, and then, the day after Josie’s birthday in October, they just showed up on my porch.”

Justin was still standing in front of him, so Hank took advantage of that and wrapped his arms around Justin’s thighs so he could rest his face against Justin’s middle. Justin stroked his hair, and Hank relaxed into him—and kept on talking.

“So they get here, and I’m happy, but I’m nagging too. Where’ve they been, is Amanda smoking again, why didn’t she call—you know, all that big brother bullshit that just makes Amanda skittish as all hell, but I get them inside, and give Josie the birthday present I bought in the hope that I’d see her. Josie says she’s hungry, so I start cooking up some hot dogs, right? And while I’m getting the pot out and filling it with water, Amanda says, ‘Going out for a smoke, Henry’!”

Hank laughed a little into Justin’s windbreaker. Justin was shivering by now, but Hank couldn’t stop telling the story long enough to get up and get them inside.

“And?” Justin prompted into the silence, and Hank shivered this time.

“And that was it,” he said. “That was it. I spent my time playing with Josie and the doll, and then the hot dogs are done, and I get Josie a plate. I go outside to tell Amanda that I’ve got lunch, such as it is, and all of Josie’s clothes are on the porch, and Amanda is gone. She’d parked on the curb that time. I didn’t even hear her start the car.”

“And that was the last you heard from her—”

Hank nodded. “Until she called me this afternoon and showed up on my porch.”

Justin jerked back from him suddenly, and Hank couldn’t blame him. “Oh. My.
God. Henry!
You
knew
? There I was blubbering about my own petty bullshit problems and you
knew
!”

Henry sat there and looked up at him, feeling like a little kid. “Don’t be mad,” he begged, closing his eyes. “I just… I couldn’t. It was your drama, and it was sweet, and you were worried about your family and I didn’t want to take that away. But you see? You see why I didn’t want the drama at first, right? Because if something so… so
quiet
could totally turn my life upside down, I was just fucking terrified of real drama. Just scared to death that it would rip me apart and just leave me in little bleeding pieces, right?”